


Forget Me Not

by lunarlychallenged



Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 12:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15796302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarlychallenged/pseuds/lunarlychallenged
Summary: Johnny didn't remember you when he came home.  Telling him about your relationship didn't seem worthwhile.





	Forget Me Not

“You’re joking,” you said. Your fingers shook a little, wrinkling the form Johnny had given you. “This isn’t real.”

“It’s real,” he said. He grinned at you, but there was an edge of dread under it. That seemed about right - he was a hero, off to war, and that was as bittersweet a thing as there could possibly be. “I’m shipping out next week.”

“No,” you said. “You aren’t.”

He was not leaving, because it wasn’t possible for there to be a town without him. How could you walk into the diner if he wasn’t there? Were you supposed to look out at crowds of people, knowing that he wouldn’t be in them? Who would mow your father’s lawn? Who would ask you to proofread his job applications, even though you always griped about it? Who would take you out for drives on the weekends, ignoring the girls he actually dated, so you wouldn’t be lonely watching your friends with their beaus?

“I won’t have it,” you said.

“I’ve already enlisted,” he said. Johnny had taken you out for a drive, but hadn’t talked about what the purpose was until he had parked in your driveway again. Maybe he was too scared to tell you. Maybe he had worried that there would be nothing to talk about in the wake of the news. “Y/N, I want to make the most of this last week; please don’t be mad.”

“Why on earth would I be mad?” The question was thick with disdain. You knew that it was misplaced; you were angry at the situation, not the man. “Because my best friend joined the military without talking to me? Because he’s probably going to die, and I won’t find out for weeks? Maybe I’ll never find out, and I’ll always wonder what happened out there. Psh, no, I’m not mad.”

“People are dying,” he said. He grabbed your hand, and even in your anger, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from him. “If I can help, shouldn’t I?”

“This ruins all of your plans,” you said. A tear slipped out and you wiped it away before he could. You knew that he would try, and that was too much of a blow.

“My plans will still be there when I come home.”

“If you come home.”

“And you’ll still be here when I get back,” he said. “I will come back, and it’ll be you and me, like always.”

“Maybe not,” you lied. “Maybe I’ll marry somebody else and move to California, or New York. Somewhere far away.” Fat chance. You had decided that you wanted to marry Johnny years ago, before marriage was a passing thought in most boys. 

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, and the first note of nervousness rang in his voice. “Can you wait?”

“Wait to get married until you get home?” You wiped at your face again and plastered on a small, teasing smile. “Why, so you can be my maid of honor?”

“So I can be the groom,” he sighed.

Your head whipped to the side, and your hand jerked out of his. “What?”

“Y/N - you and I were always heading here, right? It’s always been us, and I think I always knew it would be us in the end.”

“You’ve never acted like it,” you said. The words were matter-of-fact, not bitter. That didn’t lessen the sheepish look he gave you.

“We had time. I wasn’t worried.”

“But now you are?”

“No,” he said immediately. “I’m not worried. I’ll come back to you. I just want to be sure that, when I do, you know what I’m hoping for.”

You picked up his hand from where it had settled on your thigh. “Johnny -”

“We’ll write while I’m away, and if nothing changes, I’ll want to marry you,” he rushed. “Please.”

“We’ll write,” you said. He looked at you, uncertainty evident, and you smiled. “We’ll write, and we can talk about the rest later.”

“I’m not sure if I should be disappointed or not,” he teased.

“Not. Definitely not.” You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed you back. “Come home, and we’ll figure it out. I don’t want to tell my parents about an engagement without the fiance there.”

He laughed, and it sealed the agreement more than a contract ever could.

 

 

“Were we friends?” 

His question upon coming home was worse than any of his other uncertainties - worse than not remembering your name, his hesitancy to be alone in a room with you, the fact that he had to ask you how you took your coffee.

“Still are,” you said. You took a stiff sip of coffee. “It’s always been the two of us.”

“They said that I have a lot of friends,” he said.

“Do you not remember any of them?”

“Some,” he mumbled. “Not their faces, but moments with them. It comes and goes.”

You wanted to ask what he remembered. An unofficial proposal? Sneaking out to meet in the park? Eating bologna sandwiches at drive in movies? You wanted to ask him what he knew about you, if anything, but that didn’t seem fair. That left only one thing. 

“Can I help?”

“No,” he immediately said. “No, the doctor said that this is how I am now. After the crash, this is miraculous enough.”

You hummed, dissatisfied.

“Did you hear about the crash? It’s a wild story - I was riding in the car -” Johnny smiled while he spoke, and though it was beautiful, it was not the smile he reserved for you.

 

 

“You live on my block,” Johnny said thoughtfully.

You white-knuckled the shopping basket, trying not to look like you wanted to break something, scream something, change everything. “I do.”

He gave a pleased smile. “Good. I’m not so good at remembering faces, you know. Not after the car flipped three times.”

You reached out a hand for him to shake. “I’m Y/N.”

His hand, holding yours like it was something fragile, faltered in its shake. “Y/N.”

“Yes.”

“I know you,” he said. His brow was furrowed. In another time, you would have smoothed the lines with your thumb. He would have smiled at you then, but now the brow would only have dipped deeper. “I’m sure of it.”

“I’m your neighbor,” you offered.

“More than that. I remember you.”

“We were friends.” Then, after a blinding pulse of panic, “are. Are friends.”

He gave a nod, but you saw him running his troubled fingers along the sleeve of his suit jacket. “That’s not what I’m thinking of, but I don’t know what it is.”

You grinned, light and soft. “We were madly in love. You wanted to marry me.” He stiffened, but relaxed when you shot a late wink.

“That seems closer,” he said distantly. He shook off the uncertainty and smiled back. “Can I walk with you? Just until you’re ready to go home.”

You shuffled to the side. “Be my guest.”

 

 

Matthew Morgan asked you out in high school. You said no, and Johnny laughed about it for days.

Matt asked you out during the first winter break of college. You said no, and Johnny joked that at least you would always have a back up. You had been furious at him for saying so, but that didn’t stop him from bringing it up periodically.

Matt asked you out during the war. You said no, that you were waiting for your man to come home. You wrote Johnny about it, and he said that you would never have to worry about it again. He said that before you knew it, you would be planning a wedding.

Matt asked you out after the war. Johnny’s brow furrowed every time he saw you, like he thought that he almost knew you. You said yes to Matt, and there was nobody to tell you that this was not how your life was supposed to turn out.

 

 

“Who’s the guy that keeps coming to your house?” Johnny walked with you through the store again, carrying a basket of his own. 

“My boyfriend,” you said. The word sat funny in your mouth. It hadn’t when you told your parents, and it hadn’t when you talked to the friends you usually ran with. It was just Johnny, who smiled more every day and seemed to feel more like himself every time you saw him.

“I didn’t know you were seeing somebody!” He grinned. “What’s his name?”

“Matt. We went to school with him.”

“Did we like him?”

“Yeah.” You grabbed an apple and looked it over, scanning for bruises. “Not as much as he liked us, but yes.”

“That’s great. Really.” He was all warmth, all slow charm and pleasant cheer. “Can I meet him? Again?”

“Absolutely,” you said. This had to be a new chapter of life. This had to be a new start, where it wasn’t you and Johnny against the world. This time, you would have boyfriends. You wouldn’t pine. “You should come over sometime.”

“I think a lot of people were worried you’d be alone forever.” Then, with a light elbow in the side, “I never worried. You’re too good not to be snatched up.”

Sometimes you thought about telling him everything - that he had snatched you up, that everybody worried you’d never move on. You decided not to; it wouldn’t help anything at all.

 

 

“And the car flipped -”

“Three times,” Matt finished. His smile was gentle, but annoyed nonetheless. “I know, John. You’ve told that story before.”

The two men sat at your kitchen table, sipping at coffee. You cringed at Matt’s words. Yes, Johnny retold stories. That had never bothered you; he was a good storyteller, and he was an avid listener when you wanted to talk. You had been nervous to reintroduce the boys, but now you were embarrassed at Matt’s behavior. It wasn’t as though Johnny could help it.

“Have I? Sorry, bud.” Johnny’s eyes were apologetic, but they didn’t go pink the way they sometimes did when you had to remind him of something.

When you escorted him out, you scowled at Matt. “That was rude.”

“He won’t get better if nobody pushes him, doll.” Matt shrugged on a coat and smiled at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m trying to help him.”

“He isn’t sick. This isn’t something that we know will get better.”

“In that case, it isn’t like he’ll remember this next time we see him, right?” He leaned in to kiss your cheek, but you ducked away.

“He might. He remembers me,” you said.

“Not the way things were,” Matt said. It was the only time he was remotely cool with you - when you brought up your life with Johnny before. “He only knows the bones of who you are now.”

When he tried to kiss you again, you let him. You let him, and went back to speak with Johnny. Johnny joked more with just you, and you suspected that he may have been playing dumb.

“So,” you asked casually, “what did you think of Matt?”

“He was alright,” was the non-committal reply. “I think you’re settling.”

“How’s that?”

Johnny shrugged, and that was all.

 

 

Johnny seldom came to your house. Your parents didn’t know how to deal with him after everything, so it was better to spend time elsewhere. There was also the added need to keep Matt from seeing him come over - the two of you did nothing inappropriate, but you were sure he would make a scene if he thought something was going on. When the doorbell rang and he was the person visible through the window, you were sure that something was wrong.

“Johnny, hey! What’s going on?”

“We should go on a walk,” he said, and a sliver of ice settled in your heart.

It didn’t seem like he had a destination in mind when he led you through neighborhoods and trails. That made you feel even worse - this was a Walk. Something was happening.

“I asked you if we were friends,” he finally said.

A part of you wanted to make a joke. Which time? 

“And I told you that we were,” you said instead.

“But that wasn’t it,” he said. He looked at you, and the ice spread when you saw the look on his face. “I was rereading your letters. They never made much sense to me, since I had half of a conversation that I didn’t remember.”

“Okay.”

“But there was one letter - you said that we would be talking to your father when I got home. I remembered something when I reread it.”

You knew that letter. You had been speaking lightly at the end, not wanting to get too sappy while you told him that you would have him when he got back. The two of you had always known it, on some level or another, but it was the only time you said it baldly. You would talk to your father - you would marry him someday.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“You should have told me,” he said, and the anger in his voice was unfamiliar to you. This wasn’t irritation when you insulted a girl he dated, or offense when you took a joke too far. This was betrayal. “You should have told me that we loved each other.”

“You didn’t know me,” you said. It was the only response you could think of - nobody else had really known. It was just the two of you, making a promise that you could no longer expect him to keep. “I didn’t want to hold you to something -”

“So it was better to lie? To let me believe lies about my life?”

“Yes! Wasn’t that easier? Would you rather have tried loving somebody who you barely knew anymore?” Your eyes were filling with tears, but you had to dig your nails into your palm to keep your voice steady. The tears spilled over. “You weren’t the same. I would not expect you to keep a promise that a different man made.”

He reared back, surprised. “I’m still Johnny.”

“Yes. But not exactly the same. I won’t expect you to love a person you don’t know.”

“I don’t know that you,” he snapped back. “But of course I love the one I have now.”

You flinched. “What?”

“I love you. I know that you don’t - I would never ask you to -” He trailed off, helpless, and reached over to wipe away one of your tears.

“Stop saying that,” you said. His hand froze, inches from your face. “You think you love me, because you think you’re supposed to. You don’t have to marry me now, Johnny. I’m seeing somebody else. All bets are off.”

He said nothing, so you walked home alone.

 

 

Johnny called you a few days later. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” you said. “For what, exactly?”

“The timing,” he sighed. You could picture him leaning against the wall by his phone, trying to rub weariness from his eyes. “You’re right - we’ve both changed. I wish you had told me, but nothing would have changed. I’m sorry for getting angry.”

“I’m sorry for hiding things,” you offered. You had been coiled like a spring for days, but you could feel the unwinding begin. “You were trying to find yourself, and I made that harder. I shouldn’t have.”

“So we’re good,” he announced. “Back to normal.”

“Alright.” You grinned. “You and me, good as new.”

“So we’ll keep going shopping together, right? One of the shop girls has been making eyes, but her breath smells like something died in there, and she never makes a move when you’re there.”

You agreed to meet with him later and hung up, feeling inexplicably relieved and unhappy. It wasn’t until later, when he was shaking a box of rice like a tambourine, that you realized that he had never said he didn’t love you. Whether that was the good feeling or the bad, you weren’t sure.

 

 

You let yourself into Johnny’s house with the key he kept under a loose brick. He had always kept it there, and you had always let yourself inside when you thought he needed you. That hadn’t happened since he came home, but you hadn’t seen him in a few days. It seemed necessary.

“Johnny? Is everything alright?” You walked through the kitchen, the living room, the hallway. You knocked on his bedroom door, but didn’t feel right going in without his permission. “Johnny?”

There was a creak by the basement door.

You crept closer, grabbing a glass that sat on a table. It was probably Johnny.

It might not be Johnny.

You nudged the door open with your foot, jumping back when Johnny lunged through the doorway. He held a drumstick like he had been prepared to stab you with it. When you thought about it, he probably had been.

“Johnny! Christ, it’s me!”

His eyes were wild while he looked at you, but he didn’t attack. 

“Johnny? It’s Y/N.”

He blinked, and a little sense came back. “Y/N. What are you doing here?”

“I haven’t seen you for a few days. I thought I should check in.” After a quick one over - wrinkled pants, messy wife beater, purples smears of shadow under his eyes - “I think it was a good call.”

He looked down at himself and shrugged. When he looked back up to you, the weary lines under his eyes were deeper, but his eyes stayed bright. “There’s no need. I’ve been busy practicing the songs Donny wrote for the contest.”

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Sleep is for the dead,” he said cheerfully.

“You’ll be among them soon,” you shot back, “if you don’t eat and drink.”

He sighed, but it was fond. “I know, Mom.”

“I’m going to cook something,” you said with finality. “Go to your room.”

“Mom -”

“Young man,” you warned.” He laughed, and the smile was just right.

Johnny was already asleep when you brought a plate back to his room. You set the food on the bedside table for him to have when he woke up and turned to go, but paused to look at the room. In many ways, it was the same as it always had been. Pictures and awards everywhere; what was once a collage of memories was now a shrine to who he had been.

There was a small, grubby pile of letters on his desk. The edges were curled and dirt smudged the once clean paper, but the ink flowed as smoothly as it had on the day you wrote the contact information.  
You scanned the pile, and most of the letters were from you. Four years worth of letters, from a lover to a love long since lost.

You shouldn’t be looking at these things. They were none of your business.

The more you looked at the room, the more of yourself you found in it.

A picture of the two of you at your high school graduation.

A scarf that you gave him for Christmas years prior was draped across a chair.

By his bed, there was a pile of scrap paper and napkins. You told yourself that cleaning up after him would explain the snooping away. Of course you saw his room - you had been cleaning it. You grabbed the pile, but froze when you glanced down at them.

“Y/N is your neighbor across the street. Your friend. Can help you remember.”

“Y/N likes going on drives.”

“Invite Y/N to the next concert.”

Every scrap had facts about you in Johnny’s rough, spiky scrawl. He was trying to find you again; maybe this was a buildup of everything since he came home. It wasn’t enough, but it was close.

 

 

“That show,” you told Johnny, “was amazing. The greatest thing I’ve ever seen, really.” You and Matt had gone to watch the Donny Nova Band perform; it was one of the last shows before they’d have enough money to make the trip to NYC. Your cheeks were flushed from dancing, and a few strands of hair were plastered to the back of your neck. It had been incredible.

“Good enough for us to win in New York?” Johnny reached over to fix your hair. He could do it quickly, but he took his time.

“You could win any contest,” you promised. You glanced back toward the men’s room, checking to see if Matt was back yet. “Think you’ll stay in the city?”

“Dunno.” He looked surprised, like it hadn’t occurred to him. “Why would I?”

“You’d have more opportunities. A fresh start. Screaming fans.”

Johnny shrugged, lips quirking while he listened to some of his bandmates joyfully playing snippets of music for each other. “I like it here.”

He twirled you quickly, calloused fingers gentle in yours.

Matt materialized next to you, grinning. “Haven’t you danced enough tonight? I’m done in.”

“Glad you enjoyed yourself,” Johnny said. He smiled, but it had dimmed a little.

“You guys were great.” Matt turned to you. “Ready to go?”

“Sure. Go get my coat?”

When he left, you threw your arms around Johnny’s shoulders. His hand splayed across your ribcage, fitting into the same places they had for years. It had been ages since you had hugged him, but it was as though nothing had changed. “Good luck,” you whispered.

“I’ll be back,” he murmured back. “Didn’t I promise that? I’ll come back to you.”

And when I do, the past whispered, you know what I’m hoping for.

You held him until your boyfriend came back. When you got home, you broke up with Matt. You couldn’t explain it to your parents, and you could hardly explain it to yourself. Johnny was coming back to you, and you had to be ready for him, right?

 

 

“This place is incredible,” he told you over the phone. “The beds are huge.”

You laughed. “The beds? Really? You’re in the greatest city in the world, and all you have to talk about is the bed?”

“It’s hard to describe,” he admitted. He tried to paint it for you - bright lights, cars everywhere, crowds of people where you couldn’t blend in but couldn’t stand out. “You’ll have to come here. Maybe Matt can bring you someday,” he finished.

“I actually broke up with him.”

“What? When?”

“The night of your concert.” You absently messed with the phone cord, wrapping it around your finger until it went purple. “I realized that he wasn’t right for me. I was settling, you know.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, he wasn’t good enough. Not even close.” Then, clearing his throat, “we can talk more about that when I get home. We can go for a drive, maybe. I’ll be able to afford any car I want, you know.”

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Yeah, I’m not settling anymore. I expect the best car.”

“Only the best for you.”

 

 

Johnny had parked in the driveway, and you suddenly felt five years younger.

“I feel like a queen,” you said, looking around the car he had been driving since he was seventeen.

“I may have spoken too soon,” he admitted.

“You? Have faulty timing? Impossible. That would be as strange as, say, forgetting you had a secret fiance,” you teased. 

“That’s a spectacular transition,” he said. He grinned. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself. Y/N, about the secret engagement.”

“Yes?”

“I think we should give that another shot.”

“It went really well last time,” you commented.

“Last time, I was leaving for something dangerous. This time, it’s as safe as life,” he said.

“You’re leaving again?”

“On tour,” he said. “I was thinking that we could write while I’m gone, and when iI get back -”

“You want to talk to my father?” You grinned at your lap. “Real original, Johnny.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about this,” he said.

“Write me,” you said, “and we’ll talk.”

You reached over the space between the seats, turned his slim face to face you, and kissed him. It was as good a way to seal the deal as any.


End file.
